


don't pretend

by koedeza



Series: don't- [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Magic Realism, what the fuck lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-14 02:51:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18044060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koedeza/pseuds/koedeza
Summary: Dean doesn't believe in destiny, but it's about time he should start. (Or in which the Rougarou never lies.)





	don't pretend

**Author's Note:**

> i was FRIED when i wrote this so take it with a grain of salt ok you guys already know i can't write for shit

_ Slick with the blood of your brother, something wells up inside you and gurgles at your throat, gnarly and consequential and reminiscent of the end, because walking has never felt this hard, carrying him has never cost you this much, and breathing shouldn’t be this quiet, is he even breathing,  _ wait _ are you? _

Dean takes a two-second detour to retch in a bush, then keeps fucking running. Sam glances over at him, eyes that are carefully constructed stained glass reflecting what he just saw in his head. They both cover their ears and keep sprinting as the grenade goes off behind them, then throw themselves behind the oak trees for cover.

He thinks he’s going full-on psycho.

“Shit,” Dean laughs. “I haven’t been this close to pissing myself in a while.” Sweat glides down his temples, pools at his clavicles, his hands are slippery with it. The sawed-off in his hands threatens to slip, and he considers just chucking it at this point. Brought the wrong fucking gun anyway.

“I didn’t-” Sam’s panting hard from his crouch behind the tree next to him, arms wrapped around his middle. They’re so unprepared for this, it isn’t even funny. “I didn’t read anything about it being like this. Locals didn’t even bring up the size of this thing.” He hisses.

“Sammy, I think we should head back.”

Obviously. They were reckless, stupid, fucking cocky in thinking they could take this thing. Broad daylight, all their weapons lost or discarded along the fight. Dean squeezes his eyes shut, partially against the glaring sun, partially because he doesn’t want to face what’s out there. What keeps shuffling into his head.

_ Do you think you were made for something special, boy? Look at me. Fucking look! I am God’s raging fist, I am the anger of a thousand demons, I am the fear that leeches the pulse out of everything. And you still think you have a chance. I wasn’t made my chance. I was sent. _

Noise rushes through his ears like a kerosene explosion, light fades in and out of his vision. Now he knows what Sam’s visions felt like, the sensory overload of everything. He takes a second to suck in air then whips his head around to look at the Rougarou.

It’s still in the clearing, splayed on the ground like a Jackson Pollock painting. What’s left of its fur, it’s exposed skin, everything is so dark that the light doesn’t reflect off of it. It twitches with life, Dean can feel it. The grass around it is slowly decaying, turning to ash before his eyes.

“Dean?” Sam calls out again and it’s through a fog.

“Yeah, I’m-” He’s not going to say okay because he isn’t. The Rougarou is talking to him, it’s telling him things. Dean stands up slowly, shakily, and steps back to see the bigger picture. The bigger picture is that there is no way out of this one.

“Dean, let’s fucking go while it’s down, what are you waiting for?” Urgent, foreshadowing of some kind. Sam’s voice is never this desperate.

_ You are not leaving. He is not leaving. I am telling you, Dean Winchester, I was sent. This doesn’t have to be so… grotesque. I am not a machine of destruction, and I don’t want to be, just accept that the only certainty in your life is that it will come to an end. _

Dean knows this. He isn’t afraid of death. He isn’t afraid of what comes after. He doesn’t actually know what it is that is so terrifying about shutting his eyes for good.

Sam is a few feet behind him, head flicking between him in the car. He knows Sam would never think of leaving him, that’s not how they operate, but everything feels funny.

“Dean, come on!”

_ Do it how you’re going to die Winchester. Alone. _

One of them makes it out. Everything reaches a climax. He dies, and something will go wrong, but it will end, he is sure of that. Sammy, Sammy will make it out. There will be a quest, of course, to bring him back to life, but if the voice in his head is right it won’t work this time.

_ Yes, yes, now come _ ,

“Promise me you won’t hate me, Sam.”

“What? What the fuck are you talking about?”

Split second decision and he’s moving forward, knocking Sam out with the sawed-off, then lowering him to the ground, like a dead man into the grave.

Fate has a funny way of working things out.

_ You’re dead Winchester. You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re finally fucking dead. _

And no, Dean never would have seen it coming, never would have seen his brother turned into a rag doll, teeth like drills into the dirt, tearing at muscle and bone and ripping everything apart. It went wrong because if something can go wrong it will go wrong. Nothing is ever what he wants, what he’s willing to give up.

And so he’s slick with the blood of his brother, and something wells up inside him and gurgles at his throat, gnarly and consequential and reminiscent of the end, because walking has never felt this hard, carrying him has never cost this much, and breathing shouldn’t be this quiet, is his brother even breathing, wait is he-


End file.
